Everyone got to their feet and flutters of surprise circulated the room like a bouncing rabbit. Many eyes went to Berdie, others to Goodnight.
“Constable Goodnight,” Mr. Webb’s voice resounded, “please come forward.”
Goodnight had the glow of fresh daffodils as he stepped to the right of the parish council chairman.
Mr. Webb gave Albert an envelope.
A hush came over the household.
Berdie merely grinned.
Mr. Webb addressed those present as if announcing the arrival of the Prime Minister. “This award goes to one of great courage, one who went beyond the call, a genuine hero to us all.” Mr. Webb paused and Goodnight glowed. “As the law in Aidan Kirkwood, Constable Goodnight,” the room froze, “I’d like you to present the five hundred pound reward to Fritz, beloved pet of Wilkie and Mary Gordon.”
Goodnight blinked. He swallowed then furrowed his brow. His jaw tightened.
The whole household broke into a resounding cheer, which sent the award-winning sausage into a barking serenade.
“Yea, Fritzi,” Milton yelled.
“Good boy.” Martha and Lila clapped their hands.
Duncan stood to his feet and did a little dance and Fritz joined in.
Dotty, who was half-asleep, was jarred awake and began a howl. Ivy rescued her from Wilkie’s arms and the elder scooped the dancing Fritz into his grasp.
Little Fritz seemed to know he was the center of attention, and he looked absolutely regal.
“I’m givin’ this to a flea-bite dog?” Goodnight went red.
Mr. Webb bent towards the humiliated constable. “Don’t be a git, Albert. Give it to Wilkie.”
Albert Goodnight took a deep breath, twitched his broom of a mustache and thrust the envelope towards Wilkie Gordon who grabbed it with one hand, and held on to the squirming canine in the other. Dave Exton took several snaps.
Goodnight pursed his lips. “Not the newspaper.”
“Congratulations,” Berdie nearly sang. Since going straight and having been forgiven by Randal Preswood in a merciful moment, Wilkie needed every penny.
Mr. Webb, across the room, smiled broadly at Berdie. Just last week he had notified her that she was due the reward, but Berdie asked that he give it to the Gordons, to Fritz—the real hero.
Wilkie waved a hand for silence. “Thank you, Mr. Webb. And I’ll try to keep the little rascal out of your rubbish on dustbin day.”
Everyone went back to the tumult of a joyful celebration.
Goodnight slipped out the door faster than a fox fleeing a pack of hounds. Mr. Webb and Dave Exton courteously dismissed themselves.
Fritz pranced about, being patted and basking in the cheers.
Then Berdie caught a glimpse of Wilkie Gordon. His celebratory laughter halted. Awe spread across his aged face as he looked to the stairwell.
Berdie, and all present, turned to the stairs. Adorned in a lavender dress, silver white hair neatly arranged, and a smile of rosy lipstick brightening her renewed facial glow, Mary Gordon steadied herself against the banister.
“Grandma?” Cherry called.
“Sounds a party down here.” Mary’s voice was just audible. “And I’m hungry for Easter lunch.”
“Aunt Mary.” Lila stood from her stair step and went to her great aunt’s aid, Lucy directly behind her.
“Aunt Mary,”—Milton wore surprise—“you’re about.”
Wilkie, still silent, gazed. Moisture gathered in the corner of his eye. “Indeed, she is,” he spoke hoarsely.
When the brave woman who had weathered so much illness reached the bottom of the stairs, Martha gave her Great Aunt Mary a giant hug and Duncan offered her a bright yellow egg from his treasure trove.
As Wilkie gathered the woman, with Edsel’s assistance, to the armchair in which he had been seated, Hugh put his arm around Berdie’s shoulder and bent closely to her ear.
“It seems we have a resurrection of our own today, right here in Aidan Kirkwood,” he whispered.
“Indeed.” Berdie nodded. “Indeed.”
“Aunt Mary”—Ivy raised baby Dotty near the elder’s face—“our Dotty would like an Easter kiss.”
The great-great-aunt ran a wrinkled finger across the baby’s cheek. She placed her aged lips upon the child’s forehead. “Bless you, Dotty, love.”
“Now, Aunt Mary,” Ivy rabbited on as she passed Dotty off to Edsel, “Cherry and I have made you the best roast lamb ever.”
Hugh raised his glass of fizzy water. “Let us be upstanding.”
Everyone, less Mary, rose to their feet.
“A toast. Happy Easter and to Mary’s good health.”
“To Mary’s good health.” The group responded a little out of sync. “Happy Easter.” Glasses clinked round the room.
Ivy and Cherry buzzed into the kitchen.
“What a day.” Lillie moved next to Berdie. “And you cracked another case.” She touched her glass to Berdie’s. “Not rusty anymore, then?”
“Oh, well oiled.”
Lillie clinked her glass again on Berdie’s.
“What’s that for?
“That’s for the next opportunity that waits out there, yet unknown.”
“Yes, well, for my husband’s sake, let’s hope it doesn’t become known to him,” Berdie gurgled.
“What’s that?” Hugh questioned, Loren peering over his shoulder.
“Just discussing rust, my love.” Berdie winked at Lillie and took Hugh’s hand.
Ivy appeared from out the kitchen again. “It’s laid on. Come you hungry lot, tuck in.”
And all of Aidan Kirkwood, filled with a sense of well-being, sat down to Easter lunch.
Author’s Note
In this Lenten mystery novel, “This Joyful Easter Tide” was sung by Berdie and the congregation of St. Aidan in the Woods Church on Easter morning. It is sung in churches all cross England on that special day. Here is a bit about it. George Radcliff Woodward (December 27, 1848 – March 3, 1934) is accredited for the blissful Easter hymn, though officially anonymous, with George Wood the composer. It was in the collection of hymns Mr. Woodward published in 1894: Carols for Easter and Ascension-tide. He grew up in Hertfordshire, England and graduated from Caius College Cambridge. He became an ordained clergyman in the Anglican Church. He was noted for his religious verse and enjoyed setting his work to Renaissance tunes. An avid beekeeper, it was also said that he took pleasure in playing cello or euphonium in church processions. Besides other hymn publications, he’s the author of the Christmas carol, “Ding Dong Merrily on High.”
This Joyful Easter Tide
This joyful Easter tide,
Away with sin and sorrow!
My love, the crucified,
Hath sprung to life this morrow.
Refrain: Had Christ, who once was slain,
Ne’er burst His three day prison,
Our faith had been in vain:
But now hath Christ arisen,
Arisen, arisen, arisen.
My flesh in hope shall rest,
And for a season slumber.
Till trump from east to west,
Shall wake the dead in number.
Refrain
Death’s flood hath lost his chill,
Since Jesus cross’d the river.
Lover of souls, from ill,
My passing soul deliver.
Refrain
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Harbourlight Books
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an imprint of Pelican Ventures Book Group
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May God’s glory shine through
this inspirational work of fiction.
AMDG
Available Now
A Berdie Elliott Advent
Mystery
Candle for a Corpse
Who would guess that a simple Advent wreath would light the way to solving a Christmastide mystery in a small English village? Well, when Berdie Elliott—the local vicar’s wife and former investigative reporter—gets the scent, anything can happen. Though Berdie’s husband often disapproves, her divine gift of sorting truth from lies puts her in the stew.
Along with her best friend, Lillie, Berdie unwraps far more than Christmas presents when an Advent gathering at the vicarage goes awry, and murder rocks the village. Lively newcomers, secret identities, a clandestine wedding, and a dissenting constable add to the adventure of unraveling the mystery that Berdie—to the delight of the entire village—finally ties up like a bright Christmas bow. Tea and biscuits anyone?
Table of Contents
Table of Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Praise for Marilyn Leach
Prologue
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
Author’s Note
Thanks
Available Now
Up from the Grave Page 23